At the Yamamoto Group reception, Qin Fan and Hua Xiaotian walked in one after the other. Since Asians tend to have similar facial features, their arrival did not attract much attention.
"Excuse , where is Chairman Yamamoto?" Qin Fan asked politely, smiling at the Japanese receptionist in fluent English.
"Are you looking for the chairman? Do you have an appointnt?" the receptionist asked. Her expression grew wary. Not speaking Japanese, but English? Are they from Huaxia or Korea?
"No. Tell where he is," Qin Fan said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.
"Sorry, you cannot see the chairman without an appointnt," the receptionist stated coldly.
However, as soon as her words fell, Qin Fan suddenly thrust his hand forward. He grabbed her throat and hoisted her into the air. "Can you tell where Yamamoto Ichiro is now?"
"The 23rd floor! The chairman’s office is on the 23rd floor!" Feeling the onset of suffocation, the receptionist could no longer bear the pressure of impending death and scread.
"Thanks!"
With a cold laugh, Qin Fan exerted force and twisted.
CRACK.
The receptionist’s head drooped, her eyes wide with confusion. Even in death, she couldn’t understand why he had killed her, a re receptionist.
With Qin Fan’s move and the receptionist’s death, chaos erupted in the Yamamoto Group’s lobby. Alarm bells scread as shouts of terror echoed and intertwined, turning the scene into utter pandemonium.
BANG!
Tossing the dead receptionist aside, Qin Fan glanced disdainfully at the rushing security guards, then said to Hua Xiaotian, "Master Hua, they’re all yours. et up with upstairs when you’re done. Don’t leave a single one alive!"
With that, Qin Fan dusted off his hands, slipped them into his pockets, and strolled nonchalantly toward the elevator.
Not a single one alive? Hearing Qin Fan’s casual order, Hua Xiaotian couldn’t help but shudder. He knew this was inhumane; after all, these were innocent, ordinary people. But what could he do now? It was a huge question whether he could even leave Japan alive. Under these circumstances, he couldn’t be bothered with so-called humanity. If he had to kill, then so be it. He would just consider it collecting a bit of interest for the sins Japan committed during its invasion in World War II.
"Alright!" he called out to Qin Fan’s departing figure.
The next second, Hua Xiaotian’s figure shot forward.
Strolling into the elevator, Qin Fan leisurely smiled as he pressed the button for the 23rd floor. He remained unperturbed by the wretched screams that erupted outside, watching with a faint smile as the elevator doors closed.
「23rd Floor. Chairman’s Office.」
"Mr. Yamamoto, we are under attack!"
In the opulent office, a man in black suddenly appeared and spoke to Yamamoto Ichiro, who was resting with his eyes closed on the chairman’s seat.
"Then go take care of it. Leave one alive," Yamamoto Ichiro responded indifferently, not even opening his eyes. He had lost count of how many tis he had been attacked over the years. He had even grown sowhat numb to it.
"Yes, sir!" The man in black bowed before his figure vanished instantly.
In the blink of an eye, the door to the chairman’s office swung open on its own, like a scene from a supernatural film.
DING!
The elevator doors opened in the hallway.
A smile played at the corners of Qin Fan’s mouth as he slowly walked out. He glanced around; the entire floor was deserted. This 23rd floor was clearly Yamamoto Ichiro’s private space.
SWISH!
Just as Qin Fan stepped out of the elevator, a whizzing sound, too quick for the human ear, rushed past him.
"Stop with the theatrics! Get out!"
With a disdainful sneer, Qin Fan leaped up, swinging his foot in a sweeping kick through the empty air.
BANG!
A muffled impact erupted from nowhere. A man cloaked from head to toe in black materialized, staggering backward.
"Damn it, who are you?" the Jōnin shouted angrily, shocked that Qin Fan had seen right through his stealth.
Qin Fan ignored the unintelligible drivel. Facing the Jōnin’s stunned eyes, he smirked mockingly. True Qi surged wildly within him. His eyes quivered as the Eyes of Golden Fla launched an attack for the first ti since his rebirth.
One streak of fiery red.
One streak of bright gold.
They shot straight toward the Jōnin’s eyes.
SZZZZ!
The next mont, a sizzling sound, as if sothing was being charred, emanated from the ninja’s eyes.
"Damn it, my eyes! My eyes! Damn it! AHH! AHHHHHH!!!"
The Jōnin, still reeling from the mysterious light that had burst from Qin Fan’s eyes, howled in agony, clutching his face as he collapsed. Through the gaps between his fingers, blood stread down profusely.
"Are you going to co out on your own, or do I have to drag every last one of you out?" Qin Fan coldly addressed the empty air, ignoring the Jōnin’s screams.
"Damn it!"
A chorus of furious voices echoed. The figures themselves remained hidden. However, along with their intertwined shouts of anger, more than a dozen auras surged toward Qin Fan. Each one was as formidable as a Dark Energy Peak expert from the Huaxia Martial Arts World.
"A bunch of trash!"
He snorted coldly. Qin Fan summoned the Hemp Vine Whip from his Storage Space. Channeling True Qi into the whip, he lashed out energetically into the open air.
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK-CRACK!
Quicker than words could tell, Qin Fan unleashed thirteen strikes in less than a second.
A second later, thirteen figures crashed to the ground half a ter in front of him, their incessant howls filling the air.
Seeing that these black-clad n were clearly of a higher rank than the ninjas who had infiltrated Jiangzhou, Qin Fan lifted his palm with bloodthirsty glee and bellowed, "Earth Evil’s third form, Hundred Cracks Divine Miasma... die!"
As his voice fell, he smashed his raised palm down toward the circle of fallen ninjas.
In the air, much like the Tathagata Divine Palm from the movies, a barely perceptible handprint materialized the mont Qin Fan struck. It expanded with terrifying speed, forming a massive palm print of at least ten square ters by the ti it reached the ninjas.
BOOM!
A dull boom resounded as the Qi Force took shape. Those dozen or so Jōnin were smashed as if by a massive boulder. As the impact landed, gore and brain matter instantly splattered from their bodies. What were intact human forms a mont ago were now just a pile of bloody pulp on the ground.
The howls ceased. The life force of those Jōnin was utterly extinguished.
One move. One handprint. It had ruthlessly claid the lives of over a dozen Jōnin.
Those Jōnin, revered and enigmatic in the eyes of the Japanese, were less significant than ants in this scene. But of course they were. In the presence of a Golden Core Stage cultivator, what were these so-called Jōnin, roughly equivalent to Dark Energy Peak experts, if not ants? It wasn’t just Qin Fan; even for Hua Xiaotian, these dozen or so Jōnin wouldn’t have been enough for a warm-up.
"And the other three," Qin Fan said, looking up with a contemptuous laugh, not bothering to glance at the mangled flesh on the floor. "How much longer do you plan to hide?"
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